


Tools for Tools

by Edgelord (lostlikeme)



Series: Signs of Aging [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Power Tools, Revenge Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostlikeme/pseuds/Edgelord
Summary: My brain couldn’t articulate the things I wanted to do to him. All I knew was some part of me had made a home in the empty space of Matthew Bartlett’s chest, and I was desperate to come back and sleep in my old bed again.





	Tools for Tools

Two days since I was released on probation and already I was getting a visitor. I hadn’t seen my cousin Matt since my Dad caught what we been up to and beat me til I passed out. Five years later, Matt only looked a little different. He was thinner, for starters, and his eyes were hollowed out, like two avocado pits. There was stubble and a couple cuts on his jaw, as if he didn’t know how to properly hold a razor. Tammy said it was probably drugs, but I didn’t want to believe her. 

Matt found me out in the toolshed - a dinky little thing my Pop built out of scrap wood when he was going through his midlife crisis. He liked to smoke pot in it and pretend he was working on something important. Since he left, it had become mine. We weren’t close, but somehow the space had become something sacred. Most people never bothered me out here, but then again, Matt wasn’t most people.

“Come on, Neil. Help me out.” He peeled himself off the frame of the doorway and pulled a crushed pack of Marlboros from his pocket. “What the fuck. After everything we’ve been through?”

He was dressed in a gray sweatshirt with a hood that he kept up even inside the house. Momma hated it. His jeans hugged his legs straight down, so worn the thin denim was fraying at the knees. He shifted his weight and rested his arm on the utility shelf, finding encouragement in the silence.

“I’ll pay you back,” Matt insisted. “Promise.” 

Matt wouldn’t pay back a penny to Jesus Christ if he went belly-up during the Reckoning. I turned away and hunched over the wooden work bench. I had been trying to solder a wire in place for hours, so I could fix the radio for my littlest sister, Grace. I started counting the spokes on the wall instead. There was a screwdriver just a couple inches out of reach.

“I can’t.”

Matt flicked the lighter beside me and I jumped so hard I almost toppled off the stool. Even though he wasn’t bigger anymore, sometimes it didn’t make a lick of difference. When his breath ghosted over the nape of my neck I tried not to tense. He released a lungful of smoke that made my eyes water, so I swatted his face away and doubled down. 

“I can’t,” I said again, louder. “Not now that I’m taking care of Momma and the girls.” 

“Yeah, I bet.” Matt kicked the wall with the heel of his shoe, and for some reason guilt welled up inside me. “Think you’re a big man now that your Daddy ain’t around no more?”

My Mom and Pop had never formally divorced, but then again, they’d never been formally married either. The relationship ended as suddenly as it had started. One day I came home from school and all of Dad’s porno magazines were out on the front lawn in the rain. I can still remember the cover for Playboy August 1982, featuring Cathy St. George in nothing more than a man’s button up blouse.

“Not my fault he couldn’t keep his dick out of Cherry from the Quick-Mart.”

“Shut up,” I said. 

Matt laughed, and smoke filled the air around us. He dragged what was left of his cigarette over the work bench until all that remained was the filter, a burn depression, and a smear of ash. 

“Make me.”

Prison had transformed me, and before that, puberty. Matt looked almost as he had that last summer we spent together. According to the crayon marks on the wall by the back door, his height topped off at five foot, nine inches. On the other hand, I hadn’t hit my final growth spurt til I was nearly nineteen, stretched past six feet overnight. 

I knew I was letting Matt win if I stopped what I was doing, but once Matt got to thinking something there was no fighting it. I sat the soldering gun down and took a deep breath. When I finally stood up I was towering over him by half a head. He smiled in that twisted way he always did before something terrible happened.

“Things ain’t gonna be like they was before,” I told him. I took a step forward, and the quirk in Matt’s lips deepened. “I’m not foolin around.”

He started winding up his fist like he was going to throw a punch, so I took a step closer, grabbed him by the wrist, and twisted it behind his back as I pushed him over the workbench. It was a shock how easy it had become to manipulate his weight, like folding a barbie doll in half. He bucked to try and throw me off but I held fast, keeping his wrists pinned.

“Get the fuck off me you stupid cunt!”

I yanked his hood back and he growled. His dark hair was still buzzed short in the back and on the sides, bumping into his sideburns, but it came down a little longer in the front. It bobbed when he threw his head over his shoulder to glare at me.

“Prison turned you into a faggot after all, is that it?”

My blood ran hot with adrenaline. I started pulling on the hem of his pants and he did the rest of the work for me as he tried to wiggle away. I left his pants and underwear bunched up around his ankles and dragged him closer by the neck of his hoodie. There was a bruise on his thigh I wanted to dig my thumb into, but I brushed over it instead. 

I leaned over him to grab a phillips screwdriver off the wall and he writhed like a shot snake. Matt flinched when the cool metal of the screwdriver touched his ass. He tried to throw me again but I flattened him to the table with my weight and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Wasn’t prison that done it.”

I snatched an open container of petroleum jelly off a wire shelf and slicked the neck of the screwdriver before pushing it inside him. His entire body went still, like I was spearing him in the guts. I didn’t want to move it when I couldn’t gauge his face for a reaction. I pressed closer until I could see Matt’s profile. He scowled and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Does it hurt?”

“Get fucked.”

I wrenched it from him and greased Matt’s hole so I could flip the screwdriver around and sink the handle inside. The ring of muscle tightened around the blunt tip and Matt slammed his body back against the table.

“You’re a fuckin rapist!” Matt hollered. “I guess that’s what going to jail does to you.”

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Matt’s audacity never ceased to astound me. I left the screwdriver sticking out of his ass and slapped my palm against his chest, bunching the fabric of his hoodie in my hand. 

“I wouldn’t have been there in the first place, if it weren’t for you.”

I curled my fingers around the hem of his hoodie and yanked it over his chest so it was covering his head. When I released Matt’s arms he floundered and almost lost his balance, making it easy for me to push him onto his back. I pulled the shirt over his head and behind his neck, keeping his arms bound inside the material. I yanked the pants and underwear the rest of the way off.

“Besides, you can’t rape someone who’s asking for it.” His nostrils flared. “Momma told me how much you come around for me when I was gone. Miss me that bad, Mattie?”

Matt grimaced when I pressed my chest against his so I could grapple for the lever on the side of the workbench. The table jerked a couple inches lower before I tightened it. My crotch was finally level with his, and all I could think about was fucking him. 

I ran my fingers over his chest, felt his nipples go hard and the thinness of his rib cage. When our eyes met Matt looked like he was going to spit in my face. He licked his lips, instead, jaw tight.

“Why the hell would I miss a dumb fuck like you?”

I plunged the handle of the screwdriver deeper and Matt jolted, grunting with each thrust. His voice cracked when I found his prostate, pummeling it with a jerk of my wrist until he was screaming. When I pulled it out, he whimpered. I wiped at my wet eyelashes, dropped the screwdriver on the floor, and reached for the drill.

It was a corded handheld model I altered exclusively for an opportunity like this. Matt heard it’s shrill, piercing cry before he realized what I was doing. The flesh colored dildo in my bag fit snugly onto one end, like an oversized drill bit. There was a rod through the middle that kept it locked into place. 

I attached the two pieces together, creating a mechanical chimera. Matt was stricken by the sight of it. He flinched when I pulled the trigger and the dildo rotated, first in one direction, then the other. He had plenty of time to run off while I was rifling through my bag, but he didn’t.

“Get that thing away from me. You’re fucked in the head.” 

I pried his knees apart and took a deep breath. I had run this scenario through my head a thousand times, memorized scripts for what I would say when the big moment finally came, and yet here I was, shocked speechless. It felt like I was watching from outside my own body, floating. He covered his face when I reached for him and I blinked at the scars on his arms.

“You like it,” I countered.

“Bullshit!”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. I wasn’t great at telling whether or not people were being honest, but Matt was just as bad at lying. I slicked the silicone dick and touched the blunt head to Matt’s wet hole. I traced the ring of muscle with my finger and nudged the tip of the dildo inside. He looked good like this, with his legs spread and his cock half hard. 

“What was it you used to say to me?” I pushed against him until his head knocked the sheetrock. “Don’t be such a little bitch.”

My brain couldn’t articulate the things I wanted to do to him. All I knew was some part of me had made a home in the empty space of Matthew Bartlett’s chest, and I was desperate to come back and sleep in my old bed again. Matt grunted as I sheathed the dildo halfway inside him. My toes curled inside my sneakers as the realization hit me. 

I wanted him to like me. 

I squeezed the trigger and his insides twisted, like winding up a jewelry box. Matt choked for air. My gaze flew from his face to his cock, leaking against his stomach. I tried to keep slow as I worked him open, waiting for the confirmation that I was fucking that good spot inside him. My trembling fingers slipped over the switch and the machine grinded to a halt.

Without the high pitched buzzing from the drill, the silence became suffocating. There was sweat beading on Matt’s temple and tension in the hoodie still wrapped around his arms. I flipped the button in the other direction and the drill jerked forward, plunging the dildo inside him like a miniature jackhammer. Matt latched around his own wrist to keep from screaming. 

My hand crawled into his hair so I could pull his head back and press our lips together. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, half expecting him to bite me. He lashed his tongue against mine instead, scrubbing it over the roof of my mouth like he wanted to swallow me whole. 

“Neil,” Matt groaned, brow furrowed. “Neil, you stupid piece of shit.”

His body curled and a jet of cum hit his chin. He fell apart in his own hand, furiously jerking himself off as I drilled his prostate, milking him until he banged on the table for me to stop. He was breathing heavy and my glasses were fogging up. I pulled them off to wipe the tears stuck in my eyelashes with the back of my hand. Matt sneered.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Matt had barely caught his breath, but already he had the energy for bitching. “Christ, I forgot how much of a crybaby you are.”

Crying wasn’t the kind of thing I made time for, it just sort of snuck up on me and once I realized what was going on it was too late. My chest tightened, shrinking around my heart like cellophane on a TV dinner in the microwave.

“Me? What the hell is wrong with you!” I tried to swallow but there wasn’t any spit in my mouth. “Why are you always so goddamn raw?”

Matt’s eyes skated to the power tool in my vice-like grip, leaking lube onto the floor whenever I moved it inside him. His nostrils flared and his jaw locked up. 

“How about showing some fucking mercy?”

“Mercy?”

I had shown Matt nothing but mercy for as long as I could remember. Year after year, he had abused me, overstepping my boundaries until my patience was all used up. I eased the dildo out and placed it on the stool, watching his stretched out hole contract.

“You wouldn’t know mercy if it fucked you in the ass.”

I snatched the underwear dangling from his ankle and started mopping up the semen drying on his stomach. He sealed his lips shut, so I yanked hard on his hair and stuffed the underwear into his mouth when he cried out. I snapped my hips hard enough that his head hit the wall, before grabbing a roll of duct tape off the utility shelf and tearing into it with my teeth. 

“My Momma was right about you,” I said, sweating like a sinner in church. “You’re a real piece of shit.”

I flattened the tape over his mouth and he headbutted me, slamming our skulls together. I caught my weight on the wall before he could wiggle away. Matt screamed something into the makeshift gag, but I couldn’t understand him.

I reached between my legs to palm my erection and settled on the heavy brass buckle above my crotch. When I slid the leather through the metal loop the sound echoed in the small room. I nearly ripped the zipper in my excitement, pulling my cock out over my underwear. I ran my hand over it, base to tip, and slapped it against the meat of my palm. 

Matt groaned when I spread his ass with my thumbs and knocked the head of my cock against his flexing hole. His hips jerked hard as he tried to scramble away, so I held his wrists out above his head with one hand. My two fingers pushed easily inside him. I pulled them out and slid my erection over his flaccid cock, greased it again with the petroleum jelly. 

“Your turn,” I said. “Ready to cum from an assfucking?” 

His eyes widened, stricken with panic. I felt Matt’s heartbeat double down as I penetrated him, pushing past the first ring of muscle and stretching him wide in one smooth motion. I watched him struggle to reorient around my cock, like it was pushing the air up out of him. 

“I think in the end you’re the faggot. Ain’t that right, Mattie?” I flexed my cock inside him and he hollered into the gag. “I can’t hear you,” I said, punctuating each word with a thrust of my hips. “You said you like being my little bitch?” 

Matt frantically bobbed his head as I slammed my cock inside his ass. His eyes were wet and his face was red. I yanked the tape from his mouth and he spit out the underwear, soaked in saliva and spunk. His chest expanded as he desparately sucked in air. 

“Yes, yes, shit. Fuck me,” Matt blurted, eyes locked on mine. “Pound my asshole.”

I slid my arms under his back and wrapped my fingers around his shoulders, cradling him so the unfinished wood didn’t drag over his skin every time I rolled my hips. I pulled my cock out halfway before cramming it back in. My curly hair was slicked against the side of my forehead. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he demanded, grinding against me. “Blow your load in my ass.”

I snapped my hips and Matt’s cock thumped against his belly with each thrust. The bench squeaked as it knocked the wall of the shed, chipping the paint that had started to crack. Matt moaned, arched, and dug the ball of his foot into the small of my back. He smelled the way he always had, like summer vacation never ended. 

“Fuck your cum inside me.”

Every time my dick banged his prostate he begged for more. The fat base of my cock slid in and out of his spasming hole until his eyes rolled back in his head. My balls were drawn up close, thrumming with energy. I licked his neck and stuck my dick as deep as it would go before spraying his insides with thick ropes of cum.

He came shortly after with my cock still pulsing inside him, unloading more spunk with each thrust. I lifted him into my arms and fucked him through the aftershocks, stomach slick with his semen. He squeezed my cock when I bounced him in my lap, whether reflexively or by choice, I couldn’t tell.

He went limp in my arms, close to a ragdoll by the time I lowered him back onto the table. I wanted to tell him he’d done a good job, but I wasn’t sure what for. When I tried to pull his hoodie back down over his chest he smacked my hand away and did it himself. I fished around in my pocket for a couple of dollars and stuck out my hand. 

“Don’t spend it on drugs,” I warned.

Matt slid off the edge of the bench and onto his feet like he was connected to strings. A beat passed that I worried might stretch on forever. Then he pulled up his pants and narrowed his eyes.

“Eat shit and die,” Matt said, snatching the bills from my hand. “I’ll spend it on whatever the fuck I want.”

The money crumpled as he stuffed it into his pocket. Matt jumped to slap his hand against the wood frame of the doorway as he left, revealing a peel of pale skin one last time. I fingered the round burn mark on my work bench as he backed his shitty car out of the driveway, and just like that, he was gone.


End file.
